The Space Between
by nuritacobarrubias
Summary: The distance that keeps them apart is just a distorted dream of reality.


Disclaimer: (Expression of disgust) Yes, CC owns the world. We all know that, he made it clear enough at the end of each episode. Or should I remind you of the "I made this" voice?!

Spoilers: If you haven't seen Audrey Pauley, how come you are a DRipper??!

A/N1: First of all, this is actually **co-authored!!!! JaneDoh** is as responsible of this as I am, so we'll divide proportionally the reviews: I offer myself to bear with the kind ones, so she can have the flames and tomatoes. Am I generous or what?! ; )

A/N2: We don't despise the Audrey Pauley ending, because it has some major angst potential, but we think that those 3 days weren't exploited well enough. That strange behaviour should have been explained. So here's our attempt at explaining it, believe us: it wasn't easy.

**XXX**

"I don't see you ever disappointing anyone, John." Her final words hung in the air, as though they were too important to just disappear the moment they had left her lips. It was killing him; that expectant gaze of hers boring into his soul; that devoted smile of hers. The strength with which she kept her eyes locked oh his; she had bared everything for him, and she was confident enough to prolong the moment until he was forced to give her a response. And in that instant, he could see the truth: she loved him, without question.

And the enormity of the situation engulfed him.

Monica Reyes - the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on - was sitting less than two feet from him, and had basically given him an open invitation. And not just with a kissing-you-would-be-a-great-end-to-the-night connotation; she wanted commitment. They had gradually been feeling more comfortable with each other these last few months but now Monica had just thrown their whole relationship into a new realm. John couldn't deny he had feelings for her, but he had not expected that he would have to admit it, especially so soon. Her brutal honestly had caught him off guard, yet he so desperately wanted to close that gap between them and _show_ her his response. But that one action, despite the fact that his hormones were screaming at him to do it, would insinuate that he felt worthy of accepting her offer. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't do it; not yet. He didn't want someone as perfect as her being dragged down by someone as disastrous as him. He tried to convey the internal turmoil as he looked at her, hoping she would understand that the timing was not right but it broke his heart to see her anticipation. He took a calming breath and opened his mouth, as though it would bypass the need for thought and reveal an appropriate response. But nothing profound came of it.

"See ya Monday?"

"Yeah...see ya." He could tell she was disappointed, but he was grateful that she had let him off the hook. He just hoped she realised he was doing it for her benefit. He tried to give her a reassuring smile; it was all he could think of to let her know that he was touched by her sincerity. He started opening the car door, then turned back one final time. He gave her a slight questioning look; after all that she had confessed, she had eventually let him escape the issue without probing any deeper. It wasn't like Monica to relent so easily; he wondered if she had something else planned.

**XXX**

"Audrey."

That was all it took. He only needed one single word to believe. The whole ordeal he had been through had surely helped to achieve it, but hearing her weak and exhausted voice whisper that name had undoubtedly changed him forever. He had never let go; never for an instant. But neither had he dared to hope he would hear her voice or see her smile ever again. Feeling the delicate touch and soft skin of her hand against his, as he held on to it for dear life due to the urgent fear of losing her again, turned him into a convinced believer. All those things she used to talk about, what Mulder was so determined to fight for and all Scully was beginning to defend, weren't such crazy ideas to him anymore. He had been scared to death; afraid to believe. He needed to know he had done everything within his power to save his son. He had denied irrefutably any possibility that paranormal phenomena could ever exist.

Until now.

This time he hadn't been afraid, he had just been hopelessly desperate. It couldn't be happening; losing once again the most important thing in his life and being forced to remain helpless. Suddenly he realized he had the chance to amend the mistakes of the past and actually do something to save her. He only needed to surrender and have the strength to believe.

He had decided to turn to Audrey; she was his last hope, their last hope. And this time he was glad that he had let himself blindly believe that there may be a possibility that what Audrey told him was true; that Monica hadn't yet been lost to him, that if only he could get a message to her to fight, she could return. Being faced with such a critical situation made him re-live the feelings he had endured when his son had died. One of the hardest things he had ever had to do was accept that he had limitations; there was only so much one man could do. And he knew that he couldn't have done any more back then. He still wouldn't rest until he finally found closure, but his unwavering dedication to Luke's memory gave him the strength to forgive himself. He hadn't been prepared back then to believe, hadn't had Monica in his life long enough to convince him there were unseen forces in this world that he couldn't control. Maybe that was why fate had brought Monica to him, to try to open his mind to other possibilities, to give him another avenue into something he would otherwise never had considered. And the irony of it was that maybe her own actions had now saved her, by getting him to a point in his life where he would explore other options.

As he was trying to process all in his mind and finally let himself succumb to the dream come true that she was still alive, he suddenly realised he could now talk to her, he could tell her…

How could he wrap all he had regretted, all he had felt as she was fighting to survive, the immense relief that enveloped him right now; everything into some simple tangible words? He struggled, trying to find the perfect way to greet her back from lethargy. Instead, he just stared intensely at her, with starry eyes. Marvelling over and over at the mere notion of her presence.

"I'll go and get a neurologist," said Scully softly and reassuringly. Even though she was really concerned for the woman, who against all predictions had won her trust and become a friend in such a short period of time, they both knew she was trying to be discreet and let them have some time alone.

John didn't even hear the door close softly as his former partner made her way out of the room. He just continued his silent admiration of Monica. He placed his palm tentatively on her cheek to caress her the way he had been doing the previous hours. "Hey there."

"John," she started hoarsely; the terror and urgency in her eyes scaring him to death.

"What is it?" He asked deeply alarmed.

"You've got to help her." He thought about her request, failing at first to decipher what she meant, yet he saw the desperation in her eyes.

But by the time he had found Dr. Praise, it was too late to save her. There was no hope left for Audrey, and John made sure there wouldn't be either for Dr. Praise; he would testify at his trial and ensure he was punished for his abominable crimes.

**XXX**

"Yes. Of course, Mr. Reyes." Agent Scully hung up her cell phone. She had managed to reach Monica's parents before their arrival to the hospital, and tell them about the fantastic news. "They just got on a cab, they're on their way here," she informed her, with a comforting, almost imperceptible smile. "I told them the doctors are going to keep you in for at least a few days yet."

"I managed to make them finally come to the States," she half joked, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. She stopped trying, resigned to the fact that the position wasn't what was really troubling her. "Where's John?" She tried to sound casual, not as anxious as she really felt inside.

"I sent him home," she explained while taking a seat right next to her bed. "He hadn't slept nor eaten a thing for the last two days." Her features softened in sympathy then, as if for a moment she could revive through them all the pain she had experienced the last nine years with her own partner. "Monica," she paused unconsciously, trying to gather all her attention. "You really scared us." Scully searched in Monica's face for any sign that she understood the immensity of the hell they had been through. "I had lost all hope. Everybody did; _except_ John."

The precise measurement of her words brought Monica into an impetuous rollercoaster of emotions. She could keep them well hidden inside her, she always had; but she didn't know that entire struggle surfaced through her eyes, as if they were an open window to her core.

"If you need to talk," offered Scully; trying to find the best way to reassure their recently established friendship. "You know, I'd never betray a confidence." They both smiled softly at Scully's allusion to a similar situation, this time though, with roles reversed.

"Thank you, Dana." She took a mental rain check on that offer. But now wasn't exactly the best time for girl talk. She needed to sort some things out first.

She had always been a convinced spiritual person. She believed that the world was ruled by some unknown forces, and she was just more sensitive to them than most other people. Ever since she was a child she could sense things, interpret the different vibrations which she received. She had come to the conclusion that even in this chaotic universe, all things happened for a reason. This sudden accident was no coincidence at all. It had to hide some meaning, some message behind it.

"Any time." Scully excused herself; she had to go and pick up baby William from her mother's. She also reasoned that Monica needed her rest, even though she didn't know that resting was the last thing Agent Reyes' mind.

**XXX**

John felt somewhat refreshed the next day as he made his way down the sterile corridor of the hospital, despite the fact that he had hardly slept the night before. Although the doctors had told him Monica was expected to make a full recovery, he couldn't help but worry; it had been a shock to have come so close to losing her...forever. But the time alone had given him a chance to think, and as he had lain there in his bed the previous night - the first time he had left her side in two days - he had realised how empty his life was without her. And that feeling was enough for him to know he never wanted to go through that again. He hadn't planned what he was going to say, or even considered how she might respond; all he knew was that if he ever wanted to be given the perfect opportunity to let Monica know how he felt about her, it was now. He rounded the corner and saw the open door to her room looming ahead. He almost had to suppress the urge to quicken his steps those last few yards. And that was when he heard voices drifting from her room.

"...and of course I appreciate him being here." John's heart swelled with pride at the sound of Monica's voice.

"I don't understand why it is such a big deal then, Monica." Even from his location, John could hear the concern in Dana's voice; it sounded too much like a girls' chat for him to interrupt. He stopped in his tracks then, and considered leaving them a few more minutes but he couldn't help eavesdropping.

"It's complicated." He could hear Monica sigh. "It's just that sometimes I feel like he is testing me...you know...to see if things might go further between us."

"So I take it that option is out of the question?"

"Well, that would be breaking FBI policy, wouldn't it?" He heard both women giggle at Monica's sarcasm. However, the laughter soon dwindled and the seriousness in Monica's voice returned. "You want to know the truth Dana? He actually is a great guy in many ways so I can understand why I had feelings for him. But he can just be so selfish. I mean, we have known each other for a long time, and even though we were close all those years ago, it ultimately feels like he puts himself first. I just don't think he realises that he ruined his last chance. I guess...it wouldn't be so complicated if I didn't have to work with him again."

John's had difficulty comprehending more of the conversation as he felt the blood pulsing past his ear drums. He couldn't believe how quickly his heart had plummeted from elation to despair. He felt numb as he stood alone in the cold hallway, unable to move until he heard the creak of the chair. The noise snapped him back to reality; there was no way he was going to risk Dana finding him listening in on what was obviously a private conversation, so he disappeared down the corridor as quietly as he could manage.

**XXX**

Dana finished dragging the chair a little closer to the bed and settled herself in a more comfortable position. She was probably going to be here a while; it seemed like Monica had a lot on her mind since the accident.

"Honestly Monica, I would forget about it if I were you. Just take it that Brad was being courteous. I don't think you can automatically assume he was coming here for his own benefit. I mean, look at it from his point of view: it would have seemed callous if he _hadn't_ visited you. You gave everyone a shock; we were _all_ concerned for you."

"Yeah, I know. You're right," she conceded. "He did the right thing coming to visit me. I guess it is just the way he comes across." She laughed before revealing more. "He was infuriatingly charming even when we were a couple."

"You know Compton - the skinny blonde in accounting - she has had her eye on him for ages."

"Poor girl doesn't know what she is in for." Dana smiled at the joke, but couldn't help notice that Monica was once again looking at the clock that hung above the doorway. She must have glanced at it at least six times in the last half an hour. Maybe it was an unconscious action, but Dana had an inkling there was an underlying reason.

"I'm sure John will turn up soon," she reassured her friend.

"Huh?" Monica murmured as she turned her attention towards Dana, then gave her the best nonchalant smile she could manage. "Oh, whenever. I'm sure he has got a lot to catch up on if he wasted the last two days in here with me." She hoped that the self-deprecating statement hid her anxiety.

But Dana wasn't going to fall for it. "Wasted?" she repeated with laughter in her tone. "There is no way John considered it a waste of his time being here. We couldn't have moved him with a crowbar."

The paleness that had been a constant feature of Monica's appearance for the last few days now disappeared as her cheeks warmed with a pink glow. She looked down at her hands but knew that the involuntary action had given her feelings away. She hated the fact that the emotions displayed on her face betrayed what she tried to cover with her words.

"You know, Monica," Dana said sincerely, leaning closer to add credence to her words. "I have never seen John so distraught." The slightly deeper intake of breath by Monica was enough to indicate how important the information was to her.

She was experiencing a big controversy of multi-faceted feelings. On one hand she felt guilty, carrying an inconsumable pain for making John suffer desperately once again in his life. But on the other she felt touched, almost proud that all that aching showed that, at least, he did care deeply for her.

She wanted more though; she had always wanted more from him. She had been careful enough to make her path slowly and cautiously. But recently, her senses had distinguished an invisible green light within him. Whenever they could be alone and free from work related themes, he had seemed so relaxed, so at ease with her presence. He could really loosen up a bit and show his inner self: not the always-worried-and-obstinate agent, but a loyal friend, who momentarily seemed to verge on falling a little deeper for her. But he always held back, just at the last minute.

She had decided that she should play some of her cards gradually and see where it would lead them. Her flirtatious comments had become bolder and her work clothes had subtly metamorphasised from totally appropriate into barely respecting FBI policy, showing just enough cleavage to make John lose concentration every now and then. He was already there; he just needed a little push. So, that last Friday night she decided she would play all her cards together. She wanted to undoubtedly convey to him how she really felt; yet she knew that she must be discrete enough so John didn't feel uncomfortable. And for a moment she thought the message had finally reached its destination, as he held her gaze with such intensity. But the moment passed, and she could see the indecision in his eyes. He didn't so much need a push; he needed a blatant shove. But she was out of ideas.

She didn't want to come out directly and tell him she loved him. She had hoped that her actions were enough. But as he tried to close the conversation with a neutral 'see ya Monday' she could see their chance disappearing, and she almost reconsidered forcing him to face the issue by blurting out those three powerful words. Her bottom lip had involuntarily moved, as though desperate to release those words before getting permission from her brain. But she could see his eyes were begging her not to make him have to make this decision now; to give him more time. So she did. She let him off the hook with an equally safe 'yeah, see ya.'

"I must go now." Scully's words pulled Monica away from her captivating reflection. "You should have your rest, you look exhausted." She knew that the frustration that still aroused those memories had taken over her still weak body. "Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks Dana. I will."

**XXX**

The incessant turmoil of the busy hospital corridors wrapped up John in an active state of hypnotism. He was oblivious to the background noise that the crowd created. He didn't even acknowledge any kind of movement around him. He was devastated; he felt as though his body had become twice as heavy.

He found himself inevitably replaying once again the events of that fateful night. Had his instincts been wrong, or had that one moment really been his last chance to make a move on her? He dipped his head and buried his face in his hands. How could all this be happening? He had lost her: she had come back to life, back to him once more, only to be lost again.

Her words were still playing over and over in his mind. 'I don't see you ever disappointing anyone, John…' He realised how wrong she had been. Not two seconds had passed since that sentence had been delivered and he had already disappointed them both. What the hell, he had even made an art out of it.

He hadn't taken the risk that night, just like any other night. He had been afraid, too scared to even think about consequences of any kind. His wounds were still healing and he suspected they would never heal completely. He didn't want to be unfair to her and hurt her with his immeasurable pain, but…what if avoiding her had ultimately been the cause of her aching? He hadn't contemplated that option before and now it seemed as though it had exploded right before his face.

How more cruel could this sick game the universe was playing on him get? He had been struggling persistently not to succumb to his undeniable feelings for her these last months…and now, just when he had finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel, impatient to reveal it all and act upon his inner desires, fate had robbed him of his chance. And then he realised that it wasn't fate that had lead to his predicament; he had done it all himself. He had been presented with opportunity, and he had chosen not to act on it, until it was too late.

**XXX**

Three days had passed, and it was finally time for Monica to go home. But still, she hadn't had the chance to see John again since she had woken up. She didn't understand it; she knew he had been there all that time she had been unconscious, that he had only abandoned the hospital to shower and change. And yet now that she had awoken and was eager to talk to him, he seemed to be avoiding her. What she didn't know was that John had lingered in her doorway for hours, debating weather to step in or not. He had endured a mind versus soul war for three long days. He had been dying to get inside, to see her, to hold her. But somehow he had held back; she didn't want him there, so he unwillingly resolved to himself that he would limit their time together to just professional matters.

And now it was time to face her; she needed a ride home. He tried to justify it over and over again to himself, that he could do it. Yes…it definitely could fit into the 'professional matters' category.

He entered cautiously, as if any sudden movement could activate an unsuitable visit alarm. He noticed his heartbeat increase at the thought of talking to her while having to restrain his newfound feelings from now on. Deep down he knew he could do it; in reality, he had always done it - even if subconsciously - right until this moment. He could control himself.

"Good evening Monica, how are you feeling?" He asked her when he found her already changed and on her feet.

Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sound of his voice, but then, once his words had registered, confusion overtook her. What was happening here? This was not normal John Doggett behaviour. 'Good evening Monica'? Why so much formality? What had happened with the usual 'Hey Mon'?

"Good, I'm good," she replied, making huge efforts to force a smile on her lips, anything to make John oblivious to her confusion. But he knew her better than that. Hell, he had a master on the diversity of Monica's smiles, and he knew this wasn't a sincere one. But what else could he expect? She had made herself clear; she wished they didn't have to work together anymore.

"I'm glad to hear that. I just…I'm your ride home, Scully couldn't make it. So, if you don't mind…" he said as he unconsciously paced a little around the room. Monica couldn't help but notice it. Was he nervous? Was John Jay Doggett almost sweating in front of her?

She had expected a change. In the last three days she had had enough time to reflect on the different hidden meanings behind all things, the possible consequences this accident could bring to her relationship with her partner. Indeed she had expected a change, _the change_, but she hadn't expected _this change_; this kind of omnipotent awkwardness between the two of them. She had wished that this accident could have been a sign, a catalyst to step forward on their slow pace, but it seemed it had taken them too many steps in the exact opposite direction.

"Oh, sure, thank you John. I'm ready, I was…I just need to grab some things first," she babbled while she headed to get her little overnight bag that lay across the bed.

"Let me help you with that." He didn't even think what he was doing. The gentleman within him acted automatically as he neared his partner's body from behind, trying to reach the bag in question before she did. It wasn't until their hands brushed on the bag handles that he realised how deliciously close they were; his body had enveloped hers with a mind of its own.

It seemed as though reality had slowed around them, granting them extra time to indulge their inner fantasies and desires.

It felt ironic; how they had switched in a matter of seconds from strange coldness to haunting closeness. He felt guilty: his determination to stay as far away from her as possible was crumbling inevitably before him. Each single fibre was aching to close the insignificant millimetres that kept them apart. But he knew deep down that earthly distance wasn't really the problem, it was a painful intangible one that kept them apart.

He realised he could smell the delicate aroma of her hair, something he had secretly desired for so long. He pressed his forehead against the top of her head for a second; just long enough to sample the forbidden pleasure, closing his eyes as he was carried away by the moment.

Monica had already closed her eyes. She had closed them the moment she had felt the presence of his body heat surrounding her. She told herself it was an exercise to control her breathing, but she was trying to immerse herself in the feelings of comfort she so desperately wanted between them. She wanted to lean into him, just rest up against his chest, as casual as could be. But she knew there was still something wrong between them; she had to face him first.

She kept her head down and turned around slowly and carefully, since she noticed she was trapped between his firm silhouette and the edge of the bed; she didn't want to break the spell they seemed to be trapped in. She just needed to look into his eyes to know what that moment was all about before letting herself believe and enjoy it safely. She knew those eyes wouldn't ever lie to her.

Just when she was facing him, her forehead almost touching his nose, she raised her eyes. They searched for anything and everything, only to find a pair of blue pools bathed in controversy. She brought her mouth to say something - she sensed his hesitant train of thought and didn't want to let that moment pass just as easily as it had come - but she was left speechless.

John could only hold her gaze for two seconds; he knew if he continued to stare at her like that, he could give in at any moment without even knowing what was happening. He looked away and then turned his head to one side, lowering it slightly in the process. "I think we should go now, it's getting pretty late," he said lamely without the support of three quarters of his voice.

He dragged himself out of the room, before he could collect the fruits of the uncomfortable moment he had sowed. As he made his way out, he glanced at the bag he was carrying and cursed it under his breath for getting him into such a situation.

Monica could only watch in disbelief at the scene unfolding before her. She remained still, like a statue, with her lips partly open in a silent cry. She followed his fugitive escape with her eyes until he was out of sight, then they got lost on some irrelevant point, trying for all their sake not to pour out any of the tears that were accumulating inside, making them glow with beautiful sadness. She stayed standing still for some seconds, trying to regain her composure. Then, she pursed her lips together and decided to go on with the show.

**XXX**

The time to get from the hospital to Monica's apartment had so far taken several minutes; but it inevitably felt a lot longer with only the incessant rumbling of the engine filling the otherwise silent trip. Monica kept her focus on her hands, absently twisting the silver ring around her middle finger, unsure of how best to resolve the awkwardness. But why should it be up to her? She had done more than enough so far to convey how she felt, but something had obviously happened in the last few days to quell the progression of their relationship. She didn't know what it was, and maybe she would never find out, but it felt like there was a persistent undercurrent, slowly dragging them apart. All she knew was that she had made things as clear as possible, and it was now John's perogative to take things further. Monica looked over at him, but he didn't return her gaze, intently concentrating on driving, or at least that was how it seemed.

He could see her staring at him out of the corner of his eye and wondered if she was going to say anything. He even began to feel a little nervous that she may refer to certain moments that had passed between them over the last few days, use them as an example of his cowardice, allude to the incidents as mistakes that didn't need repeating. Even though he had overheard her thoughts back at the hospital, he didn't need her to confirm it now. Maybe if she was unaware that he had been eavesdropping, he could slowly mend things between them over time. Thankfully, he could see her apartment block coming into view, saving him from having to ponder over the possibility any longer. He pulled over to the curb, getting out quickly so he could open the door for her; hopefully she would view it as a reasonable thing for him to do, especially since she had only just been released from hospital.

She watched as he made his way towards her door, trying to read his expression, but as always, he was keeping whatever emotions he may be experiencing well hidden. As the door opened, she stood to face him and stared deep into his eyes, allowing him to make the decision for them.

He looked upon her for a few moments before saying anything. "Goodnight."

She couldn't help a small smile appear. Poor John: he was so predictable. "Goodnight," she echoed softly, pointedly holding his gaze for a little longer before walking towards her door. So maybe this wasn't the time for them to progress, and all she could do at this stage was pray that the glimmer she knew was still within him - even if he kept it deeply guarded - would grow to the point where he could no longer deny it. So when she reached the top of the stairs, she turned before she opened the door, giving him a reassuring smile in the hope it would mask her regret, and instead convey that - at least for her - things between them were still okay. And then she moved inside, wanting to hide behind the safety of the door before any change in her expression had time to betray her.

John watched as she disappeared behind the door, the click of the lock a taunting reminder of the finality of the situation. He despondently made his way back to the other side of the car and opened the driver's side door before slumping in the front seat. He had been so sure that Monica had given him too many chances that had deftly been manoeuvred, that he would need to gradually rebuild what he had damaged to gain her trust. But that last look she had given him left him a little confused; it seemed to radiate understanding, a message that she didn't consider the current predicament irreversible. He looked once more towards the soft glow of the empty porch, wondering if, just maybe, he should go and talk to her. He sighed deeply and turned his head to study his reflection in the rear-view mirror. _Just take things slowly,_ he reminded himself. His hand automatically moved towards the ignition and he was just about to turn his attention back to the road when a glint of light in the mirror caught his eye. He twisted in his chair and looked over his shoulder. He soon found the source: the light from a street lamp bounced off one of the clasps of Monica's bag, which was sitting there, forgotten, on the back seat.

Maybe it was a sign; maybe that previously damned object was trying to correct the recent mistake it had innocently caused. Or maybe he was just seeking desperately for excuses to get into her apartment. Maybe it was just meant to be.

**XXX**


End file.
